Now Untitled Series
by aragog
Summary: The sequel to Of Dementors and Giants. Whaddya get when you mix up some old romances, rebel giants, and relatively unhappy Dementors? My (so far) unfinished series.
1. Now Untitled Series: Prolouge: Enter Hak...

A/N: The sequel to Of Dementors and Giants. I'm hoping that this one will be better, I'm putting as much as I can into it; thank God for Christmas holidays, I can write as much as I want!  
  
I was astonished at the amount of people who wanted more! Just dripping with anticpation, right? Ah, I'm still laughing at that.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Queen Joanne of the Universe owns most of the characters. I own Hakon, and Mount Kaelonn.  
  
  
  
Hakon. What kind of a name is that? What does it mean, what past does it carry? A name can't be anonymous, it has to consist of something.  
  
So what does Hakon hold? To me, it is the rebel. The one giant who doesn't believe in the freedom lies they are telling. The one giant who decided to stay back in the mountainside, not to travel into the fiction filled world of individuality and freedom.  
  
The only one who still waits, waits in my home, the carved halls of Mount Kaelonn. The only origin I ever believed the giants had.  
  
The kingdom I am heir to.  
  
It is a kingdom any longer? There are no feasts, there is no song, there are no stories. Except for the one tale, the one that weaves the legend of the Horn of Grikkal, the one that has echoed in these stone halls for many years, so much it has become these walls. It is the story of freedom, and is a lie.  
  
I look up at the high ceiling, breathing in the smell of cold air, like wet cement. Like the waterfall that flows into the caverns, fresh and new.  
  
Hakon is not the rebel. Hakon is the only one who has the faith in the history of the giants to stay behind in their rightful home, not in the world of betraying wizards.  
  
The others are the ones who have rebelled. They believe the lies, and cling to them with all their hope, because they have let go of the truth.  
  
They will regret it.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore watched the shimmering surface of the Pensieve with increasing curiousity. He had many thoughts, too many. Some that even the Pensieve could not decipher.   
  
Was Hogwarts still safe? Of course. The walls were protected by more than magic. The incident of the past winter had shaken everyone, causing Hogwarts to be evacuated for a few weeks.  
  
School began again as best as it could, but fear permeated everything. Exams came and went, school ended for the summer.   
  
Sirius was back with Remus and Arabella. And Romulus. Romulus refused to teach another year, he felt that he was the one to blame for the disaster that had happened.  
  
"Those Lupins," Dumbledore chuckled quietly,"Always blame themselves. Such good teachers, too. Shame that it, a real shame."  
  
He pulled another thought from his mind and dropped it into the silvery substance. The watery face of Fridwulfa swam into view, turned into Hagrid, and then another face...  
  
Dumbledore nodded. Here a choice had been made, one he couldn't change. Perhaps it would be for the best to leave this one alone, yes...  
  
The face vanished, and then there was Mundungus Fletcher. He was gone, but left behind a wound that affected too many. Lucius Malfoy was still in questioning. The old crowd was overly shocked by Mundungus' betrayal.  
  
Dilnavaz Patil and her daughters stared back at him now. Oh, he understood the pain they would have! But that was because of the Choice made. He couldn't stop that, no. He could only protect, in this case, only protect.  
  
Dumbledore dropped one more thought in, watching carefully. He then put the Pensieve back in it's cabinet, now understanding only a bit of what was about to happen.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Maybe a little confusing, but I think most of you are smart enough to figure it out, I mean, you got the Nemo thing, but that was obvious...  
  
If anything doesn't make sense, it hopefully will by the end of the series. 


	2. Now Untitled Series: Part Two: The Effec...

A/N: I'm glad people are excited about this series, it makes me feel special. Just to let you know, Whimple, Devon is where my English buddy, Adela, lives, and I felt a village with such a cool name deserved a place in a fic.  
  
I really don't know where this idea came from. It just turned out this way. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sorry!  
  
DISCLAIMER: Blah!  
  
  
  
  
"It's good to see you, Dilnavaz!" squealed Arabella, pulling her into 3 Privet Drive,"So much to tell you!"  
  
Dilnavaz couldn't help but smile, too, as she entered the house,"I know, Arabella, I know."  
  
"I can't believe about Mundungus, he was so harmless at school. Then, bang, he's the bad guy," Dilnavaz continued, sitting with Arabella at the shining table.  
  
Arabella paused,"Like Peter."  
  
"Harmless, yes, but Peter stayed that way," Dilnavaz said carefully, warily watching her friend pour the tea.   
  
Arabella shook her head,"No."  
  
Dilnavaz gaped at her for a moment. And once again, the answer seemed obvious.  
  
"They didn't...switch, did they? Sirius and Peter?" Arabella looked back at her, tears in her eyes.  
  
"Peter told Him."  
  
Dilnavaz sat, shocked, feeling ill very suddenly,"Oh, God."  
  
Arabella reached out a hand to pat Dilnavaz's shaking one,"Dumbledore's got Sirius hidden, with Romulus. He's innocent."  
  
Dilnavaz didn't seem to hear her,"Bella, Peter betrayed them? Lily and James?"  
  
Desperate to keep her friend from crying, Arabella quickly explained everything the best she could, with her limited understanding.  
  
"I know it's hard to believe," Arabella said gently,"But, you can trust me, right? Romulus, and Sirius, and me?"  
  
Dilnavaz swallowed,"Yeah, I trust you, I believe it, but I can't seem to swallow it."  
  
"Would you feel better if you saw Sirius in person?"  
  
Dilnavaz stared at her, mouthing soundless words.  
  
"My mum's fireplace is connected to the Floo Network, we can get to a Floo station near their cottage," Arabella stood, leaving her full cup of tea on the table,"Oh, come on, 'navaz!"  
  
Arabella pulled Dilnavaz to her feet before she could protest, and shoved her into the living room.  
  
"No, please, Bella, I feel awful sick," Dilnavaz stuttered, pulling back.  
  
Arabella ignored her, conjuring a fire and tossing the green, shimmering, Floo powder into the flames.  
  
"Whimple Floo Station, Devon," she yelled into it, as she pushed Dilnavaz into the coloured fire.  
  
Dilnavaz clutched her stomach as she whirled down past the flashing fireplaces. Her insides were squishing about, oh, dear Lord, she was going to be sick...  
  
She found sure footing suddenly falling into a moss-covered graveyard. It was sunny and clear, with a robin's egg blue sky above.  
  
Arabella stumbled out of a church cellar door (hiding the Floo station) to Dilnavaz's right.  
  
"Right, then, the cottage is just beyond that fence," Arabella pointed up ahead to a thick patch of foliage.  
  
Dilnavaz dragged behind her,"Can't I just go over in that brush for a moment? I swear, I'm going to throw up..."  
  
Arabella led her through a little path between some weeping willows,"Oh, you'll feel better once you see Sirius, and Romulus, and Remus..."  
  
Dilnavaz stopped dead, rocking slightly,"Remus? He's...he's in there? I'm not going."  
  
"What?" Arabella whirled around,"Oh, 'navaz, you can't be serious."  
  
"Of course I can't. He's in that cottage down the path," Dilnavaz teetered and sat down heavily on a log.  
  
"Ha, ha, funny, funny. Really, you've got to be joking. This thing was years ago," Arabella stood, hands on hips,"You're going in to see them, even Remus."  
  
"The bloody hell I am," Dilnavaz put her head between her knees,"This is really too much for one day, Bella, I'd like to go home and have a nice little shot of Fire Whisky, thank you very much."  
  
"Guaranteed there'll be some in there for you. This is stupid. Years ago, Dilnavaz Patil! This all happened years ago! It's meaningless now!"  
  
"So did Peter. Peter betrayed them years ago. Sirius was jailed years ago. Lily and James were killed years ago. That still matters," Dilnavaz muttered, choking back tears. Blimey, why was she crying now?  
  
"This is different."  
  
"Different?" spat Dilnavaz, looking up, ashen faced,"Different? How? Tell me, how? Still betrayal, right? Still broken hearts? I'm not going in." With that, she leaned over the log and began to retch.  
  
When she had stopped, Arabella pulled her to her feet, and half dragged Dilnavaz down the path,"You're so stupid, 'navaz. Wimp."  
  
Dilnavaz protested weakly, wiping her mouth and tears away. She wasn't seeing him now. This was too much.   
  
The cottage came into view. It was quaint, like fairy tale quaint. Hansel and Gretal quaint. A little whitewashed house, with a thatched roof and dark glassed windows. The only thing out of place was the garden, over run with weeds.  
  
Dilnavaz straightened up as they approached. Oh, sod it all, this was useless. Arabella was as stubborn as she was.  
  
Arabella knocked on the door sharply, then turned to glare at Dilnavaz.  
  
Romulus answered. Or was it Remus?   
  
"Hello, Arabella, Dilnavaz," he said curtly, nodding to both of them. Oh, thank goodness, it was Romulus, Remus would never have welcomed Dilnavaz like that,"You alright, 'navaz? You look terrible."  
  
"Thanks for the compliment," she hissed.  
  
"Bad Floo powder trip," explained Arabella hastily,"I just told her about Padfoot, y'know. She's in a bit of shock."  
  
"Please, Arabella, don't make me go see Remus," Dilnavaz moaned, making one last attempt at escape.  
  
"Ah," said Romulus quietly,"Remus. I forgot about the tension between you two."  
  
Dilnavaz shook as she was pushed into the cottage. It was very bright in here. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision, unsure whether or not this was due to her dizziness or the actual whiteness of the room.  
  
A large, black, shaggy dog was in one corner. She focused on him immediately, not wanting at all to see Remus,"Nice to see you out of prison, Sirius. I've been wondering about you."  
  
Sirius resumed his normal form, grinning. He looks so thin, she thought blankly, he's so weak looking. Oh, what time can do.  
  
"Hello, 'navaz," he replied calmly, mouth twitching. Ah, so he did remember about Remus and her, the devil,"Anything to drink?"  
  
"Fire Whisky, if you've got it," she said a little shakily, looking around. Remus was in a chair, stiff as a board, to the left.  
  
"Hullo, Remus," she whispered. He nodded, and she sat down in the chair farthest from him, avoiding his eyes.  
  
She was being stupid. She was only doing this because she was embarrassed. Honestly, he was the one who should be embarrassed, after what he did to her.  
  
"Fire Whisky," Romulus slid a tiny glass of amber liquid across the table to her. She gulped the drink, letting the burn numb her senses.  
  
Romulus glanced at Remus,"This is strictly business. We all want to forget these old differences, right?" Dilnavaz nodded without caring. "No chance hiding it. Whatever was between you is gone now. It isn't something you want to remember."  
  
"There are plenty of things I'd rather not remember," said Sirius with a hollow tone.  
  
"That's why we're here," Arabella noted,"To try and change the past, to shape the future." Dilnavaz didn't understand a word of that, her brain felt clogged.  
  
"I think I'd like to go outside for a moment," she said airily, standing,"No, Bella, I won't run away."  
  
Dilnavaz stumbled down the path to the graveyard. She leaned up against a tall monument, and, crying a little, fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
She was awoken by someone standing over her. She opened her eyes. It was evening, the sun was just slipping beneath the horizon, great tendrils of coral pink stretching across the twilight sky.  
  
"I don't appreciate being woken up like that, Remus," she mumbled, standing and brushing dirt off her slacks,"Someone hanging over my shoulder like a ghoul, honestly."  
  
"Sorry," he muttered.  
  
She felt like banging her forehead against something. Or slapping Remus around the head.  
  
"About what?"   
  
"About everything."  
  
Don't come any closer, she screamed mentally, I swear, I'll whollop you! He didn't move though, just stood there, brooding. She still felt like punching him.  
  
"It's a little late for that."  
  
"No, it isn't." Dilnavaz started to say something scathing, but bit her tongue. Remus sighed and walked away from her a few steps, looking up at the darkening night.  
  
"So, I hear you've got a new last name," he sneaked a glance at her.   
  
"He left me eight years ago," she replied simply. No, don't talk about my divorce, not him, just leave!  
  
"Is he the guy you left me for?"  
  
"Why are you asking? So you can flaunt it at me that it didn't work out? That it was a mistake? That I should've stayed with you, back at seventeen?" she spat.   
  
He glared at her,"No, of course not. You're over-reacting. You always used to do this."  
  
"Used to. Used to. Well, you used to tell me you loved me. Used to tell me we were meant for each other. Then, just run off with that little Alannys McQuirkle, why don't you?" she threw up her hands. She wasn't over-reacting! How was she supposed to act, after he had left her without a goodbye so many years ago, then was trying to apologise now?  
  
"Huh. Then there was you and..," he began.  
  
"Shut up! I won't listen to his name! He caused me more pain and heartache than you did, okay?" she screamed.  
  
Remus jumped a little, looking terrified for a moment, then regained his posture,"That's hard to believe, 'navaz, the big deal you're making out of all of this."  
  
If she was scaring the wits out of him, so be it,"Oh, really? Do you know what he used to do, hmm? No, I bet you don't. I never talked about it with anyone, not even Arabella." She pulled up her left sleeve to show him her forearm.  
  
A thin, white, grisly scar cut it's way up her inner arm, bright against her dark skin,"He used to beat us, my daughters and I. See? Still got the scar from when he blasted me with his wand. If you had never left me, I would never have gone with that...that man. My daughters wouldn't have been terrorised. Do you know what it's liked to stand back and watch your children be beaten, but can't do anything about it?"  
  
He didn't say anything. He didn't look up at her, which she was glad for, because she was crying again.  
  
"Found a way to blame it on me," he said weakly,"Well, congratulations, Dilnavaz, you've made me the guiltiest I've felt for a good fifteen years." With that, he turned on his heel and walked down the path back to the cottage.  
  
She stared at his retreating back, remembering the old days, until Arabella came out a few minutes later and took her back to the cottage.  
  
Dilnavaz fell asleep on the sitting room couch after lying awake for an hour, wondering about Peter, whether he felt guilty, whether Remus still loved her.  
  
She dreamt dark, powerful dreams, the type of dreams that stayed in the back of your for a long time, bubbling and boiling.   
  
She only remembered a shadow of them when she awoke. It was still dark in the room, still in the deepest part of the night. It was stuffy in the sitting room, so Dilnavaz stepped over Arabella, curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor, to go outside for some air.  
  
She stared over at the graveyard, the forest green shadows of the tombstones stretched out over the grey ground.   
  
Something moved to her right. She gave a gasp and twirled around, looking for the source of it, wondering suddenly whether she was still asleep.  
  
She was hoping that her sudden movement would've scared it off, or distracted it enough so she could get back in the house.  
  
Instead, the thing moved out from under some branches. It wasn't a thing, it was a man. A man whose face and voice were etched into her mind.  
  
She stepped back, closer to the door,"Get away from me, Mohinder."  
  
"Please, Dilnavaz, I swear, I'm not that man, I'm changed!"  
  
She grabbed her left arm nervously,"That's waht you always said."  
  
He began wringing his hands,"The drink isn't on my breath anymore. I know what I've done, I realise it now."  
  
"Really? If you truly understood what you've done, you'd stay away from me," she hissed.  
  
"No, I trust you, that's why I'm here," he bit his lip, looking unlike she had ever seen him. He was scared, scared senseless,"I've found something. To...to deafeat You-Know-Who."  
  
This took a moment to register,"The hell you have. You're telling me a bunch of crap, get out of here."  
  
"No, no, no! Listen, I...I can't tell you. If you knew, they'd be after you, too. I can't put you through more pain."  
  
She grimaced,"Not that it's possible. You're crazy."  
  
"They're after me," he ignored her comment,"They want to know what I know! Please, I need to be hidden."  
  
"So why are you talking to me?"  
  
"Fidelius," he whispered, his dark eyes pleading, hands clasped and shaking. Fidelius. Like Peter. Peter, oh she hated him now like she hated this man!  
  
"I...I can't do that!" she stuttered,"I can't believe you're asking me! This would put me, my daughters, everyone I love in danger!"  
  
"But I trust you," he said, as though this solved everything,"I'm changed, I tell you! They'd never think of trying you!"  
  
"Who are they?"  
  
"Death Eaters, a giant, oh, God, Dilnavaz! What harm would it do if I was lying? But I truly know how to beat him, I can't let it slip! Please." Dilnavaz remained silent. She was beginning to believe him. He had told her the truth before. The only lie was when he had said,'I love you'.  
  
"There's no reason why I should, lie or not."  
  
"For Lily and James. Would you do it for them?"  
  
Don't say things like that! she thought, No, please! I can't think about them now.  
  
"For Lily and James," she said quietly,"And Harry."  
  
He paused, looking at her carefully,"So you will, then?"  
  
She was either asleep or crazy, because she heard herself say,"Yes."  
  
They both pulled out their wands.  
  
"I, Dilnavaz Patil, take upon this secret in my soul," she whispered, raising her wand, somehow knowing the spell. She felt a tingle through her limbs, and something white poured from her wand, hanging between them in a twinkling mist.  
  
"Mohinder Patil is hiding in Exeter, Devon, 12 Adtrim Avenue," he said slowly. The mist flickered, flowing back into her wand.  
  
"This secret will not escape my mouth, for a bond has been created between these two wizards. Should I or the other choose to tell the secret, the bond is broken. Your secret is hidden forever in my soul," Again, the electric feeling.  
  
"Thank you, thank you, Dilnavaz, a thousand thanks. Namastai," Mohinder salaamed and backed away into the woods.  
  
"Namastai," she whispered, trying to sort out what she had just done, what it had meant.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Oooo that took alot to write. I hope you enjoyed it! R/R!  



	3. Now Untitled Series: Part Three: Out and...

A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Shrub Naya Baras (that's Hindu), Happy Ramadan (? not sure if that's right.), Happy Winter Solstice, and whatever else you celebrate. Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I spent my entire freakin' Christmas Eve typing this, so you'd better enjoy it!  
  
DISCLAIMER: We know it all. But, look! I can claim things. Hakon, Kaelonn, Dilnavaz, Mohinder, and Juta. *looks very proud of self*  
  
  
  
Voldemort was, again, doing what he had been for most of that summer; pacing and thinking, back and forth over the cave, Wormtail cowering senselessly in the corner.  
  
"I don't blame you at all, my dear Wormtail," Voldemort said coolly, looking at the short man with an expression of mild disgust,"If it's anyone's fault, it's Fletcher's. Playing two sides at once can never work. Remember that, Wormtail."  
  
He nodded fearfully. His master had sunk into a horribly bad mood around April, just after he had ensured the murder of Igor Karkaroff, and hadn't gotten out of it quite yet.  
  
"Call in Severus Snape," Voldemort continued,"I must have a chat with that dear fellow."  
  
Terrified, Wormtail slid into the next chamber. Why on earth was he so cheerful now? Oh, something must be wrong. At least he wouldn't be taking it out on him, he hoped.  
  
There was a crude stone fireplace set into the far wall. Wormtail conjured a fire and threw in a handful of dust.  
  
"Severus Snape! Your master calls!"  
  
A low, hollow whoosh and Snape spun into the room.  
  
"Is he still in that mood?" he asked quietly, as not to be heard.  
  
Wormtail shrugged,"He was odd a minute ago. Near cheerful, in fact. Be careful."  
  
Be careful. Well, Peter was always king of the understatement.  
  
If he was near cheerful, than he wasn't mad at him. If he wasn't mad at him, then he still had no idea that he, Severus Snape, was a spy.  
  
He bowed deeply upon entering the room. Voldemort gave him an appraising look, his red eyes flashing.  
  
"You understand that I still cannot trust you, Snape."  
  
"Well, after the entire ordeal with Fletcher, no one can blame you, Master."  
  
"Hmmm. But the information you give me will be correct, no?" Voldemort didn't wait for an answer,"I need to know the next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts."  
  
Snape paused. He couldn't ask why he needed to know Voldemort would not like that. He wouldn't like it if he lied, either.  
  
Should he tell him? Dumbledore had warned him not to tell anything to Voldemort. But what could this hurt?  
  
Alot, said the voice in the back of his head, It could hurt alot. Who knows what he's planning? But he would suspect him if he didn't answer. Scheisse!  
  
Of course, you could warn the staff. You could warn the new teacher that Voldemort might be after them...  
  
"Dilnavaz Patil, my Lord," he replied, trying to control his voice,"I believe Dumbledore will be contacting her soon."  
  
A slow, wicked grin crept across Voldemort's face,"Oh, we do like the Patils. Very good, Snape, very good." Snape grimaced slightly, too subtly to be noticed. Voldemort was treating him like a dog; Good Snape, now tell me how to kill Harry Potter. Tell me how to kill Dumbledore. Lead an innocent witch into a trap. Good boy, Snape, good boy.  
  
Snape forced a smile,"Always glad to be of help, Master."  
  
"Can you tell me anything about Lucius, or the giants? I'm not quite sure on the honesty of my other spies," Voldemort's eyes flickered towards Wormtail, who was standing a few feet behind Snape.  
  
To hell with it, he'd already slipped up. He might as well tell him what he knew,"Lucius is still in questioning. His trail is next week. His popularity is quickly declining. As to the giants, I've no idea."  
  
"Are you sure you can't tell me anymore about the them?"  
  
Snape shook his head, and explained, truthfully,"After the attack, they ran off. I don't know at all what happened to them."  
  
Voldemort turned to the wall,"You may leave."  
  
Relieved, Snape turned back towards the chamber with the fireplace, nodding curtly to Wormtail as he passed.   
  
He had alot to tell Dumbledore.  
  
***  
  
Thwap. Thwap. Hisssss.  
  
A series of odd noises aroused Dilnavaz. She kept her head buried in the couch arm, vainly pulling the knitted throw around her. She was too comfortable here, she wasn't about to get up.  
  
Click.....CRASH!  
  
She jumped. She could hear someone cursing a blue streak from the direction of the kitchen. What the heck?  
  
Muttering, she stood and shuffled to the kitchen doorway. Sirius was lying in a heap on the wood floor, spouting a colourful array of words. Several pans and strips of bacon were scattered around, and a large, greasy piece of bacon was plastered across his forehead, a drip of fat going down his nose.  
  
She began truly laughing, for the first time that summer.   
  
Sirius glared up at her,"Shut up!" A drop of grease splattered on his chin.  
  
"Get up, you fool, and let me do the cooking," she giggled, pulling out her wand and waving it. The pans flew up and landed neatly on the stove,"I know you're a dog at heart, Sirius, but it's still uncouth to eat bacon off the floor."  
  
"Shut up!" he repeated angrily. She chuckled and stepped over him.  
  
"Where are Bella and Romulus?" she asked vaguely.  
  
Sirius glanced at her,"And Remus."  
  
She shrugged,"Where are they?  
  
"Went down into town. Whimple's a nice little place, they like dogs here."  
  
"Unless they're covered in bacon grease."   
  
"Ha ha ha," he stood up, peeled the bacon off his head and ate it,"Ah, they never fed you like this in Azkaban."  
  
She paused, staring at the bacon strips sizzling on the stove,"Must have been hell in Azkaban."  
  
"You'd never understand, 'navaz," he stopped plucking bacon off the floor to look at her,"You don't have a single, happy thought there. Oh, sure, a few sane ones. But you're more afraid of your own mind. The Dementors have it down to an art. They feed on you, they take over your brain with their slimy blackness. You fear only your thoughts, because they're so horrible. You have no memory or sense of future, just ugly thoughts rushing around your head.  
  
"It's not like a Boggart type of fear. That's material fear. This is fear of yourself, fear of your mind. That's hell, 'navaz, when you're driven mad by your own thoughts."  
  
She gave a nervous laugh,"And you still talk about it as if it were nothing, but it isn't."  
  
"That's what Azkaban does to you."  
  
Dilnavaz slid the strips onto a plate and set them on the table,"Breakfast is served."  
  
"Lunch, actually. It's nearly noon," Sirius sat down.  
  
Dilnavaz seated herself across from him,"I slept that long?"  
  
"Well, I'm not surprised. From what Remus said, you had a pretty rough night."  
  
If you only knew, she thought,"So he told you all about what I said, then?"  
  
"Don't get mad at him, 'navaz. He was scared for you, we all are. Why didn't you tell us?"  
  
Dilnavaz bit her lip,"I don't know why."  
  
"Yes you do."  
  
"If Remus knew, he'd flaunt it at me that I should've stayed with him. If Bella and Romulus knew, they'd get all worried."  
  
"Because we're your friends, 'navaz. We're supposed to worry about you."  
  
"But you wouldn't have been able to do anything about it. Sympathy was useless in my situation," she poked her bacon around her plate,"Every time I tried to get my daughters and I out of there, he'd beat me."  
  
"I didn't know you had kids," Sirius said quietly.  
  
Dilnavaz looked up at him, confused,"Then Remus didn't mention that?"  
  
"No."  
  
"He used to beat them, too. My two little twin girls, Padma and Parvati."  
  
"How old were they?"  
  
"He left when they were eight. But he abused them most of their lives. He was a drunken bastard."  
  
"Any idea what happened to him?"  
  
Her stomach did a flip,"No. Why?" He shrugged and went back to his bacon.  
  
When she had finished hers, she announced that she was going into Whimple to see if she could catch up to Bella.  
  
She left the cottage and walked out onto the main street from the graveyard. It was an early afternoon in late summer, and the air tasted pleasant and warm. All the Muggles seemed to be doing nothing in particular, just lazing about, gossiping.  
  
Arabella, Romulus, and Remus were in a Muggle grocery market. Romulus and Remus weren't used to Muggles, or very fond of them, but Bella had experience. She was walking briskly up and down the food aisles, while the other two trailed behind.  
  
Dilnavaz waved at them through the store window. Romulus came out to talk to her,"Nice to see you up."  
  
"Well, Padfoot made a beautiful mess in the kitchen with the bacon and it woke me up."   
  
Romulus began to laugh,"I'd love to have been there to see it."  
  
They stood, looking in at Remus watching the cashier ring up Bella's purchases. Every time the machine beeped, he jumped a few feet in the air.  
  
"How they hell do they live like this?" commented Romulus,"I still wonder that, after four years of Muggle Studies and six months of living with 'em."  
  
Bella and Remus came out, eventually, and the four continued down the street.  
  
"Harry will be going back to school next month, won't he?" said Remus.  
  
Arabella shifted the bags she was carrying,"His birthday is tomorrow, 31 July."  
  
"Oh?" muttered Dilnavaz vaguely, her mind processing this.  
  
Sixteen. Tomorrow Harry Potter would be sixteen. Sixteen was when she and Remus began courting.  
  
Maybe she should send him a gift. Why was she so worried about Harry all of a sudden?  
  
Don't you remember what you told Mohinder? You took his secret on for Lily and James.  
  
And Harry.  
  
***  
  
Harry stood outside his bedroom window, blinking in the bright light. He had just spent the entire morning scrubbing 4 Privet Drive's toilets.  
  
The Dursleys were still scared of him. He supposed that they thought that he would get Ron to come back through the chimney and hex Dudley again. He missed Ron so much, he wished that he would.  
  
The past year had been a bad one. Hogwarts had been in absolute disarray after the 'attack' by the giants. The school had been evacuated, and Harry had been sent home with the Weasleys.  
  
Tomorrow was his birthday, and for the first time, he was excited about it. First of all, he had actually getting gifts. Second, it meant that school would be starting in just over four weeks.  
  
Sixth year at Hogwarts. It felt like a dream. For the past five years his life had been a dream, a beautiful, rich, revealing, but terrifying, dream, that he never wanted to wake up from.  
  
***  
  
That evening the little cottage by the graveyard in Whimple had a visitor; none other than Albus Dumbledore.  
  
He Apparated at the door in his sweeping purple cloak and robes, silver hair glowing ethereally.  
  
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore!" Remus cried upon opening the door,"What brings this visit?"  
  
"Something good, for once. I understand Dilnavaz Patil is here. May I speak to her?"  
  
Remus's face twitched,"Yes. Come in, come in." Dumbledore went in and sat down on the chesterfield.   
  
"Lovely little village, Whimple is. I know a wonderful family of wizards here. Do you know the Boaks?"  
  
"No, sir, can't say that I do."  
  
"Shame. Very nice family. Their daughter Adela will be going to Hogwarts this year..."  
  
Remus left Dumbledore mumbling to himself.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore's here to talk to you, Dilnavaz!" he said loudly upon entering the kitchen, where she was sitting with the rest of them. She stood, looking perplexed, and brushed past him.   
  
"Nice to see you, Albus," Dilnavaz said pleasantly once in the parlor,"What brings this visit?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled his mysterious smile,"I would like to invite you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."  
  
She stared at him,"But I'm hardly a teacher."  
  
"You have twin girls, my dear Dilnavaz. You have had lots of experience with Dark Arts. That makes you very qualified."  
  
"Well, it's still a very large job, Albus, I don't think that..," she spluttered vainly.  
  
"Nonsense. I have the utmost trust in you." Why do people have to have so much bloody trust in me? she thought weakly.  
  
Dumbledore continued,"You could do with the money, also. I understand that you haven't had a job since Mohinder left you?"  
  
"I have savings. And he does pay child support," she explained. The hell he pays child support. He hasn't given me a knut.  
  
Dumbledore smiled,"No, he doesn't. This job will be good for you," he stood,"I will see you at Hogsmeade on 30 August, at the train station. And a word of advice; those giants really aren't that bad." He Disapparated.  
  
She glared at where he had been previously standing. This was the last thing she needed.  
  
***  
  
Hakon sighed. He had just encountered a bump in his plans of revenge. That bump was actually a certain wizard, by the name of Voldemort.   
  
A man claiming that he was Voldemort's right hand man had just visited him. He had told him a long and deeply boring lie about Voldemort's plan of revenge on the giants. After a little prodding and a few threats on Hakon's part, he had got some truth out of him.  
  
First, no one knew where the giants had run off to. Second, a wizard by the name of Mohinder Patil had discovered a way to defeat this wizard, Voldemort. Voldemort's followers were now after him.  
  
Thirdly, Mohinder's ex-wife, Dilnavaz Patil, was teaching at Hogwarts this year. Fourth, Hakon had squeezed it out of the wizard that Voldemort was really just going to use Hakon should he get him on his side. This classified Voldemort as an enemy. Hakon then killed the wizard, and had just eaten him for dinner.  
  
Simple, this life of violence was. Kill all those in your path. Voldemort was in his path. To kill Voldemort, he needed Mohinder. To get Mohinder, he needed Dilnavaz Patil.  
  
Simple.  



	4. Now Untitled Series: Part Three: Azkaban

A/N: I'm poking this damn series on as fast as I can without ruining it. Keep tuned. As you can see, I've changed the title. I found a flaw in the plot, and had to change some things. It no longer had a reason to be called 'The Art of Freedom' once I had finished fiddling with it, so it is the 'Now Untitled Series'.  
  
Xing's new 'chaptered' feature screwed me up royally for a very confusing while, so sorry for the wait.  
  
Lestrange sounded French to me. And I made up their first names.   
  
Here's an idea for what you should do while ol' slow typing aragog finishes the fourth chapter; go check out Soz's series The Third Camp.  
  
DISCLAIMER: **sets a folder marked 'Lawsuit' on fire** Burn, baby, burn.  
  
  
  
  
  
Shadows.  
  
His world was shadow and stone.  
  
What was his name again?  
  
The man clawed at his thin brown hair with dirty fingernails.  
  
"Shut up!" he screamed at the voices, the cold whispers in his mind, "Shut up! Let me remember, please, I have to remember!"  
  
He let out a howl of misery and slammed his fist against the stone wall. When he brought it away, it was covered in blood from a gash in the side of his palm. The sight of it pleased him; it meant he was still human, still flesh and blood as it had been before, not some tortured animal.  
  
What was before?  
  
What was now? Now was Azkaban.  
  
The man dropped to his knees, cradling his mangled hand. He kept his mind blank, trying not to think or concentrate too hard. It was a trick he had learned in his nine or so years in this hellhole. Don't think. If you do, the Dementors will come and suck your brain dry.  
  
Diomedes. Diomedes Towne. That was who he was. He wasn't just the prisoner in cell number 277; he was Diomedes Towne.   
  
It felt as though he were waking up. He groped further into his mind, pushing past the invisible barriers that the Dementors had set up in his memory. He worked for the Department of Muggle Co-operation.   
  
What was that again?   
  
Never mind. The sensation of knowing something, something being clear and vivid in all this greyness was sweet enough.   
  
Why was he here? No matter how far he reached, he couldn't recall this bit of information.   
  
Maybe I'm innocent.  
  
"Innocent!" he screamed standing up and banging on his barred door, "I am innocent! Let me out!"  
  
Something tall and black moved outside in the damp corridor. It stopped in front of his cell. Diomedes continued to yell at it, hurl curses it.  
  
It took a deep and rattling breath. Diomedes was pitched into an ice pool of pain.  
  
"Guilty!"  
  
He could hear voices.  
  
"Life in Azkaban!"  
  
Mingled tones called out at him. Diomedes screamed again. He couldn't breathe...he couldn't see...he couldn't feel...  
  
And he was back, curled up in the corner of his cell, crying dry tears. His mind was blank again. He could only twitch and sob. There was no future or past for him at that moment; only the present, and all his suffering.  
  
  
***  
  
"Imbecile!" Voldemort screamed, "Half wit! Idiot!"  
  
"Master, master, I didn't understand, I didn't know!" Macnair pleaded vainly.  
  
"You've lost me a Death Eater, fool!" Voldemort advanced on the cowering man, "Crucio!" Macnair began to writhe and twist on the ground, yelling hoarsely.  
  
"He is a rebel giant, Macnair!" Voldemort waved his wand, and Macnair lay still, "He is very unstable. The slightest thing will change his mind so that his is against us, as he is now!  
  
"So you send Nott to persuade him, thus proving that you are on a level of stupidity that I have never seen! The giant is against us now, and he has killed Nott! Crucio!"  
  
Walter let out a howl that didn't seen human, or animal, something that came from the depths of his being.   
  
"I hope you have learned a lesson," Voldemort lifted the curse, "Out!" Walter stood weakly, wiping blood from his mouth, and Disapparated.   
  
He now regretted ever becoming a Death Eater. But if he turned his back on Voldemort, he would regret it even more.   
  
Voldemort stood in the centre of the chamber, rubbing his temples, muttering.  
  
"Have they all lost their wits in the last fifteen years?" he burst out, the high words echoing off the stone, bouncing back and forth.   
  
"WormTAIL!" he whipped around, looking for the short man, "WormTAIL!" The pudgy figure scuttled out and bowed before his lord.  
  
"Any leads on Mohinder Patil?"   
  
"No, sir."   
  
Voldemort let out another screech of rage, "Morons! You are all MORONS! Can't you do anything right? Anything? For your Master, whom you have pledged absolute faithfulness to, can you not do anything?"  
  
Wormtail was doing some very quick thinking, "Lucius. Lucius Malfoy. We can smuggle him from the Ministry. Would he not be helpful, sir?"  
  
Voldemort stopped, "And what would we do should they come looking for him? The fools at the Ministry, as foolish as they are, do have some brains, unlike my Death Eaters. They have a tracking spell on anyone they keep in questioning. Should they escape, they will find them most easily. It is a stupid, worthless, idea, Wormtail, one that only a blundering idiot like you would think of."  
  
Voldemort started to pace again, his face screwed up in an expression of suspended concentration. He suddenly turned back to Wormtail, eyes glittering in a disturbing maniacal way, " How would you like to go back to jolly old Hogwarts, Wormtail?"  
  
***  
  
Diomedes tried to clear his head enough to stand up. I am innocent. I am innocent.   
  
The burden on his shoulders slid away a bit. Diomedes jumped up. The air was still heavily metallic, and still smelled of rat droppings. There was a twist in it, somehow. There was fading jolt to it, a buzzing tingle. It slipped out of the atmosphere for a second, then would float back. It was as if the very air Diomedes was breathing was becoming warmer, then colder, and then warm again.   
  
He pushed himself to look out the bars in his door, and what he saw nearly knocked him over.   
  
Dementors. Thousands of them. All moving in one direction, past his cell and down the metal stairs. Diomedes recalled these stairs well; thin planks of steel with no rails. All of Azkaban was layered in tiers; large platforms with doors leading into the cells. All the platforms were accessible from the main floor, by going up flights of the metal stairs.  
  
All the Dementors were leaving the platform. They were going down to the main level.  
  
Diomedes ran to his tiny window, overlooking the sea. In the distance the shore was visible, grey and tantalisingly distant against the night sky, but this, for the first time, was uninteresting to him. The Dementors were filing out of the double doors at the front of the prison, onto the stony beach.  
  
A man was urging them onto what resembled an old Muggle ferry. Diomedes couldn't rightly see the man, or the ship, from his high perch, but one thing seemed certain.  
  
The Dementors were leaving Azkaban.  
  
Diomedes wouldn't let himself believe it. He dashed back to his door, and watched in awe as one, final Dementor descended the stairs, and out of his range of vision.   
  
The fluctuations in the air ceased. For a moment, everything seemed perfectly clear and bright, as clear as it could in Azkaban, where so much suffering had taken place.   
  
Diomedes let out a wild cry. His shout echoed down through the corridor. Several inmates replied, screaming out their disbelief. Very few, of course; most of them were too far gone to really notice something had occurred.  
  
Meanwhile, on the main floor, Michael McManus was in his office. He had a simple black robe with a silver belt and badge, symbols signifying his importance as one of the few non-imprisoned wizards Azkaban had. He was in charge of directing the Dementors, keeping the inmates in order, making sure there was anti-Dementor enchantments around his office, and that sort of thing. The walls of his workroom were plastered with maps of Azkaban with tiny pictures of the inmates moving about (if they were still in that good of shape.) their cells. A poster of Celestina Warbeck was tacked above a ratty old couch in the corner. She was presently asleep, it being nearly 1 o'clock in the morning of August 31st.   
  
Michael himself was presently at his desk, his fair hair untidy and all over his lined face. He was quite handsome, with an air of experienced ruggedness around him. He had a strong, square chin and a well-toned body.   
  
Michael McManus had also been dead for a good thirty minutes. Slumped over the papers on he had been reading not one hour before, a pool of blood was forming around his striking face, staining the worn oak desk. His brown eyes were wide open, a hint of surprise still reflected in them.   
  
His throat had been slit. He had bleed to death in a few minutes. I can't say if he suffered; my neck has never been cut open before. Nor could Jean-Guy Lestrange say anything about how much Michael had suffered; he was merely following his sadistic instincts when he had swooped down on Michael McManus with that menacing dagger of his.   
  
Lestrange now stood back, watching the scene with glittering eyes. His burly hands were covered with sticky blood. He rather liked killing with his hands; there was something triumphant in the sweet smell of fresh blood.  
  
But that was the Muggle way, he reminded himself, Using a wand is showing your true powers. He wiped the blood on his robes. The crimson liquid shone dully in the light of the candle on Michael's desk, which resembled a lighthouse in the sea of blood. Jean-Guy found the similarity gruesomely pleasant, in his twisted mind.  
  
Jean-Guy was now opening filing cabinets at random, throwing open cupboards and searching shelves. It had to be here. After he had totalled the room and not found it, he ran back out into the corridor.   
  
"Leonie!" he called into the darkness, "Leonie, they're not here!"  
  
Leonie Lestrange came out of the office next to Michael's, "Try the room down at the end of the hall."  
  
Leonie watched him disappear into the shadows, then turned back to the office.   
  
"Sorry about that. What did you say your name was? Dawn? I'm Leonie Lestrange," she addressed the dark-skinned woman curled up in the corner. Her accent hinted that she was French, "Do you know who that man was?" Dawn shook her head slowly.  
  
Leonie sneered at the woman and stepped closer to her, "That was my husband, Jean-Guy. Do you know how long we've been in this hell hole?"  
  
Dawn took a deep breath, gathering her courage, "What kind of an interrogation is this?"  
  
"Who has the wand, my dear?" Leonie twirled Dawn's wand around, pink sparks flying from it; she had forced it from her when she had broken into her office. Dawn rubbed her swollen eye, recalling Leonie's hard fist colliding with her face.  
  
"We have been here for fifteen years," Leonie continued causally, striding over to Dawn's desk and picking up a framed picture. It showed Dawn eating a sundae in Diagon Alley, laughing with a small girl sitting beside her, "Is this your daughter?"  
  
"My little sister, Aurora," Dawn whispered, her voice cracking a bit.  
  
Leonie cocked her hand, eyeing the photo. Her face twitched, momentarily forming itself into a look of pity, "I had a younger sister. Her name was Therese. She was 'accidentally' killed when Ministry Officials raided my home. Heartless bastards," Leonie dropped the picture, not even flinching as the blue frame shattered. Dawn bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.   
  
"How would you feel if someone murdered Aurora?" Leonie ran her dirty fingers along Dawn's wand. Ash, Dawn remembered, 11 inches, with dragon scales. It pained her to watch this monster holding it. It was hers. Her magic. Her life was that simple wand.  
  
Leonie ignored Dawn's silence, "Or rather, how would Aurora feel if you were brutally slaughtered?" Leonie raised the wand and brought it down in a graceful arch, leaving a trail of golden dust that fell to the faded carpet like rain.  
  
Dawn squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to notice the burning in her right eye, "What do you want from me?"  
  
Leonie clapped her hands, visibly pleased, "Why, you're smarter than you look! That's wonderful! I don't need to threaten you at all. Where do they keep the inmate's wands?"  
  
"What?" Dawn pulled herself up onto her knees, wincing slightly. It felt as though her ribs were bruised.  
  
"When my husband and I," Leonie hissed, carefully watching Dawn, "were thrown in here, they took our wands away. Where are they?"  
  
Dawn licked her lip, hoping not to taste blood; "They destroyed them."  
  
Leonie frowned, "How?"  
  
"Burned them," Dawn was now on her feet, though slightly hunched over in pain.   
  
Leonie flexed her fingers. For a wild moment, Dawn thought she was going to curse her out of pure rage.  
  
Instead, Leonie called out to the hallway, "Jean-Guy, don't bother looking. This witch here says they burned our wands."  
  
The broad shouldered man poked his head into the office, "What?"  
  
"I said," Leonie sighed and waved Dawn's wand again, "that they burned our wands. This one here belongs to the dear woman in the corner who probably has the keys to open any lock in this bloody place." She spoke slowly and carefully, as though ordering a child about.  
  
Jean-Guy grunted and glared at Dawn, "Mademoiselle, I believe we could use your help. Can you open the cell doors?"  
  
Dawn let out a shuddering breath, trying to concentrate, "I'll need my wand."  
  
Leonie ran her tongue along her teeth, "We will be getting it back, no?"  
  
"Why, of course, Madame," Dawn spat. Leonie frowned slightly.  
  
"Right, then," Jean-Guy strode across the room and pulled Dawn up by her shoulders, causing her to squeal, in both pain and surprise.  
  
"Be nice, Jean-Guy," Leonie smirked as her husband grabbed Dawn beneath the arms and half-carried, half-dragged, her out into the main corridor.  
  
Dawn choked as soon as she left her office. She usually had an anti-Dementor spell on her, so she couldn't feel their effect on her, but that was broken as soon as Leonie had taken her wand. Everything was cold, all of a sudden. It reminded her of the sensation she had felt when she had accidentally walked through the ghost of a Highlander in her uncle's castle. Only this was ten times as icy and tingling. What she found even more eerie was that there were no Dementors.   
  
"Where are the guards?" she said hoarsely.  
  
"They took off about an hour ago, didn't they, Leonie?"  
  
"Yes. Just walked right out of Azkaban."  
  
"Feels right cheerful without them, don't it, Mademoiselle?"  
  
Dawn couldn't tell if they were joking or not, "What do you mean, they took off?"  
  
Leonie grinned at her, "Up and walked away. You see, Lord Voldemort called them."  
  
"P...pardon?"  
  
She heard Jean-Guy laugh behind her, "Leonie, you didn't tell her? Shame on you. Mademoiselle, we are the Lestranges, only the most famous Death-Eaters in Azkaban, except for, perhaps, the so-called Sirius Black. We were among Voldemort's most powerful followers."  
  
Dawn could have hit herself. Leonie and Jean-Guy Lestrange! Of course! Where were her wits?  
  
"How'd you get out?" Dawn glared at Leonie.  
  
"Oh," Leonie gave a harsh laugh, "We've known how to get out of the cells for years. It was just the obstacle of getting past the Dementors that was the tough part. But now that Lord Voldemort has called them, we can be freed! And will be given power beyond all our sweetest dreams..." She trailed off.  
  
They came out of the passage way a few seconds later. There was a huge metal staircase, then a landing with two more staircases leading up towards the walls. The cells were sent into the concrete walls, and shelf like balconies jutted off them. Numerous staircases wove metal beams above their heads. A few prisoners were screaming, the voices bouncing off the cement, howling and screeching. Not a single Dementor was in sight.  
  
"Sounds like the doormat of Hell," Dawn said simply.  
  
Leonie chuckled again, or at least a cough of amusement escaped her mouth, "That's because it is, dearie."  
  
"And you're," Jean-Guy let go of her, "going to let them out." He motioned for Leonie to give her the wand.  
  
Dawn chewed her lip, "Why?"  
  
Leonie leaned up close to her; "We're insane."  
  
"I can see that much," Dawn replied, "But that's not a very plausible motive, is it?"  
  
"Oh," Leonie's face dropped, "And I was so hoping that I wouldn't have to threaten you."  
  
Dawn heard Leonie hiss a spell, and was knocked to the ground. She let out a cry of agony; her left shoulder bone had shattered.  
  
Jean-Guy pulled her to her feet, despite her protests, "We can hurt you much worse. We are Death-Eaters."  
  
Dawn studied them through her teary eyes; Leonie glared right back. Her stare came from under thick black eyebrows that reminded Dawn of caterpillars.  
  
What would Aurora do if I were murdered? Dawn thought, No, do I really what to think about that?  
  
Dawn reached out her hand for the wand; "Can I fix my shoulder first?"  
  
"No," Leonie held the wooden piece back.  
  
Dawn sighed, "Fine. I won't. And I'll give it right back." Leonie tossed it to her.  
  
Knowing she would regret this as soon as she did it, Dawn raised the wand and spoke into the noise of the prisoners, "Harbodium Nostatus, Liberatos Tuttium!" Dawn held her breath. To be truthful, she wasn't sure if this was the actual spell to open up the doors of Azkaban. She was Michael's secretary, and it was only through poking about in Michael's files that she even knew about such an incantation.   
  
Nothing had happened yet. The screams were still echoing, and Dawn still felt the sensation of drowning in freezing water.  
  
Leonie whirled on her, "I thought you said you could do it!" Dawn opened her mouth to defend herself, but something stopped her.  
  
Azkaban was quiet, all of a sudden. The lack of sound was even more terrifying than the noise had been. The only thing heard was what sounded like a faint rushing, the same sound one hears when holding lying in bed, having just awoken from a vivid nightmare; when you aren't breathing or moving, just listening to the darkness.  
  
Click. Click. Click.  
  
Rapid noises began overhead. Dawn jerked her face up, searching for the source.   
  
Click. Click. Click.  
  
It was the grating sound of metal on metal. Someone hooted wildly, and quick footsteps resounded throughout the building.  
  
Dawn suddenly realised what was happening about the same time as everyone else. The latches of the cells were popping open.   
  
The prisoners of Azkaban were prisoners no longer.  
  
***  
  
Dilnavaz stared moodily out of her window. The grounds stretched out in front of her, moonlight flowing over it, making the shadows of the Forbidden Forest stand out eerily. She could see the Quidditch pitch and it's dark stands.   
  
She had been at Hogwarts for one day. One, long, trying day. And now she couldn't sleep.  
  
She was definitely drowsy, at the point of fatigue where one's thoughts blur and lines between reality and imagination disintegrate. But she still couldn't sleep.  
  
Every time she tried to close her eyes, she saw her daughters and Mohinder. Or Remus, standing in the graveyard in Devon, glaring at her with those beautiful honey-brown eyes.   
  
No! Not beautiful! Not lovely honey-brown! He was Remus. He had betrayed her. Like Peter did to Lily and James.  
  
Her eyes drifted up to the sky. The stars seemed to twinkle like lanterns. Like thousands of lanterns parading through a stream of black sky.  
  
Minerva McGonagall had shown her around Hogwarts that day. No, she corrected herself, Yesterday. It was nearly 2 o'clock now. Today was the 31st. Tomorrow Parvati and Padma would be here.  
  
When Minerva had pointed out where the staff room and bathrooms were, Dilnavaz had to try and keep from yawning. She had attended Hogwarts with Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs. No room was secret to them, and in the last two years they had spent here she had accompanied them on a few of their adventures. One escapade with a plugged toilet and a pair of Flitwick's socks stood out in her memory.  
  
She tore her eyes away from the window to take another look at her room. The bedroom in her flat wasn't as nice as this, she had to admit.  
  
It was entirely stone, but a had a pretty area carpet with a lotus and tortoise border; Hindu symbols of Earth. The tapestries were definitely Indian; they depicted various Hindu gods and goddesses. Dilnavaz reached out and touched the silky threads of the one nearest her; it was of Devi and her lion, advancing towards a buffalo demon. The image moved, of course. She could she the lion throwing back its head of rich, tawny gold.  
  
She ran her fingers along it, walking past it to the door. This lead to her office, which one reached by going down a flight of stone steps. The stairs were only accessible by saying the correct password to open up a doorway in the panelling of her office. It had a kind of secret thrill about it, the kind of thrill that only Hogwarts had. There was something awe-inspiring in the dusty magic that the very walls of the castle seemed to hold.  
  
Dilnavaz turned to go back to her bed. She had taken Romulus' advice and brought her own bedding. The faded roses on the cover clashed with the bright blues and vibrant reds of the room. She compulsively flicked one of the pale yellow yarn ties on it.  
  
She reached for her wand on the bedside table as she climbed back in. She had suddenly remembered a sleeping spell.   
  
She tapped her temple and was just able to drop her wand back on her cabinet before slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
***  
  
Dawn spun around and flew out of the chamber like a bat out of Hell. The dull pain in her shoulder throbbed as she hurried back down the corridor.  
  
"Michael!" she screamed, nearing his office, "Michael! Where are you? They're escaping!" She dashed through the open door and screamed again.  
  
The sight of her slaughtered boss and the smell of blood overpowered her, and she stumbled back into the hallway, gasping and sobbing.  
  
She ran the opposite direction of the main area of Azkaban. In this bearing, the hall sloped down and towards the main doors. Dawn threw herself against them and burst onto the rocky shore.  
  
The cold, sea air hit her like a ton of bricks. She felt a little sobered by it, but the image of Michael, limp and blood drenched, remained fresh in her mind.   
  
What was she going to do?   
  
She tentatively glanced back at Azkaban, the grey walls shooting up towards the sky. She could hear mingling yells inside. The sound made her want to be sick.  
  
They'll be coming right through those bloody doors any minute now. All thousand or so of those inmates will come stampeding out onto the shore, she thought.  
  
"Sod it all," she hissed, clutching her shoulder and stumbling down the rocks to the water's edge. The sea, a murky green in the darkness, lapped lightly against it.  
  
I still have my wand, Dawn realised. She gingerly opened her hand, suddenly appreciating its light touch on her dark skin. She hadn't let Leonie take it back.  
  
Dawn hissed the Disapparation spell, and as she disappeared, the doors burst open.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
